


fields painted gold

by robotchangeling



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Botany, First Kiss, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Canon, They’re both nerds, courting, reconfiguration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22414318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotchangeling/pseuds/robotchangeling
Summary: Samot experiments with creating new species, and he shows them off to Samothes when he's finished.
Relationships: Samot/Samothes (Friends at the Table)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Secret Samol 2019





	fields painted gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_fairweather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_fairweather/gifts).



> My Secret Samol gift for the_fairweather! You suggested flowers and I...got a little carried away? Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title is from “Bloom” by The Paper Kites.

It takes a lot of foresight, the shifting of ecosystems required to insert new species into the world. Samot does this with the patience of a gardener and the power of a god.

“It started with the vineyard,” he explains to Samothes over wine. “There was so much more to consider than I realized, at first.”

“There are always considerations when starting something new,” Samothes says, and his eyes linger as Samot lifts the glass to his lips. When he realizes Samot is watching him back, he looks away, flustered, and raises his own glass instead. “And you said this is from there?”

“Yes,” Samot says. “I usually prefer wine aged from older lamina, of course, but I wanted to try it. The fruits of my labors and all.”

“Perhaps I should visit sometime.”

“You should,” Samot encourages. “I’d like to show you how I’ve made it all fit together. I think you’d enjoy it.”

Samothes smiles softly. “I think I would.”

  


Stable plants need the regulation of nutrients in the soil, which requires other plants, and pollinators, and other animals that eat the pollinators. He can pull an entire species out by the roots, shake off the dirt, and put it back how he wants it—but not without consequential changes to the world around it. The whole experiment is their divine power manifested on a small scale.

Samothes does find this explanation interesting, as Samot had hoped. They walk together through the fields, Samot pointing out a leaf shape here, a bird’s song there. He pushes aside branches and wades through tall grass; he crouches beside a fallen tree, gesturing to a fungus that has begun growing on it. All the while, Samothes listens intently, offering questions or his own anecdotes when he thinks of them.

When they begin to tire of walking, they settle onto the ground in a patch of soft grass. Samot’s sight falls on a patch of coneflowers, and he realizes, suppressing a laugh, that he’s made their centers the precise shade of brown of Samothes’s eyes. He doesn’t meet those eyes just yet—there’s an anticipation building between the two of them, and neither has decided precisely what to do with it.

Then Samot chuckles after all. He reaches down and plucks a burr from the hem of Samothes’s clothing, holding it up with a playful smile. “When I said you should get out of the City more often, I didn’t mean you should take the Plains home with you.” 

Samothes gestures towards Samot’s head. “It looks like you’ve got more than me.” Samot tries to run a hand through his hair and grimaces. He starts to pull at the burrs, but they’re stuck fast and concentrated at the back of his head.

“Let me,” Samothes says, extending a hand. Samot sits cross-legged in front of him, feeling suddenly and fiercely like a mortal teenager. Samothes’s hands brush Samot’s scalp as he parts his hair away from the tangles in the back—he must feel the way Samot’s heart races at the contact.

Samothes begins to work out the burrs, holding Samot’s hair firmly with one hand to pull at them without hurting him. “Did you make these as well?” he asks. “I don’t recognize them.”

“Yes,” Samot says. “And here I am, ensnared by my own creation.” He examines his grass-stained knees and thinks of how much more he is ensnared by. There’s such wonder in being near Samothes, so much to discover; it’s like being new to the world again.

“I’m just admiring the craftsmanship, but make it poetic if you must,” Samothes says, amusement in his voice. He tugs gently at Samot’s hair. “I can see their function well enough, but what’s the purpose?”

“The seeds weren’t ending up where I wanted them. Now they catch on the fur of animals that can spread them further.”

“Tangling the fur of beautiful wolves?”

Samot is abruptly relieved that Samothes can’t see his face. “Sometimes. If the wolves aren’t careful.” 

“Well, you’ve caught me.” Samothes holds out a hand, displaying the remnants of the burrs that have come apart and stuck to his fingertips. 

Samot turns around and takes that outstretched hand to inspect it. One by one, he plucks the barbs from Samothes’s fingers. “Perhaps I’ll be a more careful wolf next time,” he says when he’s finished, still holding Samothes’s hand between his own. “Or not, if you’re there to help me out.”

“I don’t mind helping,” Samothes says.

Samot inclines his head, and a strand of hair falls in front of his face. He smooths it back himself before Samothes can reach out, but he notices the way Samothes’s eyes flick towards it. “No,” Samot says with a teasing smirk, “I can’t imagine you would.”

He plucks a coneflower and slips it into Samothes’s pocket before he leaves. Let him figure that one out on his own, if he hasn’t already. 

  


Samot goes back to his work with renewed inspiration—the image of Samothes among the wildflowers won’t leave his mind. He starts a new project, thinking of that meadow bathed in sunlight. It takes several tries to pull all the variables together, but he has a vision; he wants this to be perfect.

When Samothes arrives, Samot greets him with excitement. He takes Samothes’s hand—it’s becoming an easier thing, but there’s still that thrill in his gut—and begins to lead him through the ecosystem he’s designed, at last climbing a hill that he created for just this purpose. When they reach the top, they overlook a valley filled entirely with tall yellow flowers, bright in the midday sunshine.

“It’s beautiful,” Samothes says, and then Samot squeezes his hand and folds time back on itself. The sun sinks back below the hills and then rises again at a faster pace. As it moves across the sky, the flowers tilt towards it in unison, the landscape itself chasing after Samothes’s light.

“I gave them an internal schedule,” Samot explains. “Different parts of the stems grow during the day and night.” He’s found he enjoys this, sharing the things he’s learned. He begins to go into detail, explaining his methods as the changing light shifts across their faces. 

So caught up in his demonstration, Samot doesn’t notice at first that Samothes has turned towards him instead, watching Samot’s animated explanation with rapt attention. There’s a tender fondness to his expression, and Samot’s next words catch in his throat.

In the silence, Samothes presses a very careful kiss to Samot’s cheek.

“You’ll have to repeat some of that,” Samothes admits as they both smile. “I may have been a little distracted.”

Samot laughs, entirely enamored. “Gladly.” He turns toward Samothes, gathers his courage, and tugs at the movement of time again. “And I think I’ll start with that last part.”

Shake off the dirt, and put it back how you want it. They’re adjusting the variables, changing the environment; Samot can’t wait to see the consequences. When he kisses Samothes, the sun and all his flowers stand still, the whole world holding its breath for whatever might come next.

**Author's Note:**

> (Note: sunflowers only really do that before they bloom. I assume that’s just because they weren’t created by someone falling in love with a sun god.)


End file.
